Inner Demons
by Brain Droppings
Summary: A young man leaves his home on Antiga Prime to enlist with the Confederacy, but his actions start him on a journey he'll wish he never began. (Chapter four completed)
1. Listen

Drake stared at the wall, in what seemed like an unbreakable trance. His mind spun, continually tripping and stumbling over the last couple of days' events. _This isn't happening,_ he kept telling himself, _it's not right_. But somehow, no matter how many times he repeated those words to himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too real. As his mind worked itself into a frenzy, running in circles, trying to catch a tail that didn't exist, Drake tried to remember where it had all started to fall apart. 

It had all began on a sunny day not two weeks ago, Drake remembered. Here on Antiga Prime, a backwater world under the Terran Confederacy, not much happened every day. Farmers got up early every morning, and worked until late at night. Most were very poor, and barely had enough money to keep their farming equipment in a decent state of repair. Drake's family was no different. Born to a small, impoverished family on the outskirts of Antiga Prime's capital city, life had always been hard for him. And for a long time, Drake had been fine. The fact that his family was always desperately poor never bothered him, and he constantly accepted the reality that his family would never own this, or that he would never get to own one of these. He wore hand-me-down clothing from his older brother, and had been working in the fields since he was fourteen, four years ago. Even with all four members of his family farming, there was barely any money to spare for luxuries like new clothes.

Life was pretty mundane for Drake and his family most of his life. The same routine every day, up in the morning, eat breakfast, out in the fields till lunch – there was no time for Drake to go to school – and, after lunch, back in the fields again until dinner. After dinner, the family would often spend an hour or two reading from old history books about what life on Earth was like, or try to pick up a late-night radio show on their short-wave transmitter.

Drake still remembered the first time his father had let him operate the mechanical plow. At the time, Drake had felt like he was on top of the world. Of course, the feeling of exhilaration wore of relatively quickly, but Drake was always rather fond of memories like that. He also remembered the first time he'd step inside the family's shabby Space Construction Vehicle. Hardly any families owned one of these useful machines, and Drake's family had been fortunate enough to find it in moderate disrepair on their property after they had purchased it. After some quick mechanical work, they had it functioning well enough to help clear out new land to plow.

Of course, things could only stay this way for so long. Two weeks earlier, a large platoon of Confederacy Marines had taken up residence in Antiga Prime, in response to the uprising of a rebel faction, the Sons of Korhal. Seeing the Confederacy troops gave Drake a sense of pride in his Confederate heritage that he had not known existed. He became obsessed with the desire to join the proud Confederate Armed Forces. So obsessed, in fact, that he began to get distracted from his farming tasks. His distraction escalated to the point where, after a week, he began making elementary mistakes in the handling of the plowing machinery that he had been using for years. His father noticed these mistakes, and, worrying that Drake was going to injure somebody the next time he made a mistake, forbade Drake from operating the plowing machinery until he could focus on his work.

Drake was upset with his father's decision to revoke his equipment privileges, as he had been using the plowing equipment for seven years. However, he was respectful of his father's wishes and refrained from using the plowing equipment when he worked. This just gave him more time to fantasize about joining the Confederacy. It got to the point where his father asked him why he was constantly daydreaming and slacking off.

"I've just got... stuff on my mind," Drake replied.

"What kind of stuff?" his father inquired?

"Oh, you know, just thinking about the Sons of Korhal and all of that war stuff."

"Well, I don't want you to worry about that, son. What I want you to worry about is keeping this family fed. Can you do that for me?" His father asked.

"Yes, father, I can. I promise to stop thinking about all of that war business and focus more on farming." Of course, Drake could not just stop thinking about "all of that war business." It all meant too much to him now, and he was constantly tuning into the local news stations on their short-wave for any news on the war. He was fully determined now to become one of the Confederate Marines, and he knew that he wasn't going to let his parents stop him.

He decided to bring the issue up at dinner one night. "Dad," he said. "I heard that the Confederates are accepting new recruits down at the City Hall."

"Yeah… so?" His father grunted, in-between bites of Ursadon steak. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Well, dad… I was thinking… I was thinking that maybe I would enlist."

"WHAT!" his father roared, spewing food across the table. "What the Hell are you talking about, son!"

Trying to keep as cool and collected as possible, Drake replied, "I said, I was thinking that I would enlist with the Confederate Marines." He took a deep breath, because he could tell by the look in his father's eyes what was going to happen next.

"Well, son, you'd better think again. Not a damned way in Hell my boy's enlisting in the Army! Not when we already have enough of a difficult time feeding this family!"

Drake stuttered out a response, suddenly unsure of himself. "Bu.. But dad.. I tho-.. thought I would.."

"Thought you would what, son! Thought you would what? Enlist in the pretty little Confederacy Army, go through your cute little Boot Camp, and then get yourself killed fighting God knows who's war! Not if I have anything to do with it, Drake. I am your father, and I forbid you to enlist in the Confederate Army."

"But, dad! I would get paid, and I could send home money every month! It would make it better for you guys, and-"

"That's enough, Drake, you heard your father," his mother intervened.

"Mom, please! Life would become so much easier for us if you let m-"

"Your father said no, and his word is final. You're not enlisting." With that, his mother got up from the table and began clearing the dishes and putting away all of the leftover food. Drake, furious at his parent's lack of foresight, stormed off to his room and boiled.

Later on, his brother came in to try to talk to him. "Hey, bro!" he said as he cracked the door. "Mind if I come in?" James was twenty-three, five years older than Drake, and much stronger. He was usually the one who used the Space Construction Vehicle, helping their father to clear out new areas to plow and to harvest valuable resources for sale in the city.

"Sure, I guess so," Drake replied glumly. He stared at his brother distractedly, thoughts buzzing in and out of his head like bees in a beehive.

"Hey, what's up with you, man?" James inquired. "I've never seen you act like that before. Maybe it's just me, but I'm used to you being really relaxed and respectful. Why do you want to join the army, anyways? I've heard really bad things about them."

"You don't understand, James, and neither do mom and dad. I could make something of myself in the Confederacy. I could be someone. And, through me, you could live the way you deserve to live. I'd make sure you would get anything you'd need, and I'd always be sending fresh checks home. Out there is a world of possibilities, but there's nothing for me here. Nothing but these same fields for the rest of my life."

James, obviously shocked and taken aback by Drake's outburst, took a minute to organize his thoughts. "Hey, bro, calm down. What's so bad about these fields, anyways? They get us by, and they always have. Sure, we may not be rich, and we may never get rich, but we have more than most families do, and we have each other. I don't think you can really ask for more than that."

"But that's where you're wrong, James. There's so much more to ask for in life. There's endless possibilities out there, and all you have to do to achieve them is reach out and grab them. I tried to reach out, just back there at dinner, but dad cut my hand off before I even got close."

"I don't really understand your thinking here, Drake, because I know that I'm grateful for what we have. If you're not happy with it, I'm sorry, but I hope you'll be calm enough to get out and work tomorrow. Things have slowed down since you stopped operating the plow, you know. We could really use you out there, bro. Good night," James said as he got up to leave.

"Night, James," Drake replied dejectedly.

* * *

And that was how Drake had come to be in his present situation. Several days of uninteresting toil had passed since that night, and Drake had tried several more times to discuss the issue with his father, but each time the answer was the same. Drake was fed up with his parents, and, sitting in the dark in his room, he had finally decided that their answer was no longer good enough. It had been several hours since the rest of the family had gone to sleep, but Drake hadn't been able to get any rest. He had spent the late hours of the night debating with himself, and his mind was finally made up. Getting up silently and padding over to his small closet, he grabbed a duffel bag and began stuffing it with clothes. After he had packed all the clothes that he thought he would need, he grabbed his toothbrush and several other toiletries. Finally, he put on his best jacket and his working boots. Gathering all of his belongings together, he turned towards the door, and stepped out into the night. 

Quickly getting his bearings under the bright Antigan moons, Drake set off towards the tall, hulking shadows in the distance to the East. He knew that there were only several hours left until dawn, and he knew that he had to make it to the city by then if he wanted to enlist before his family caught up. Breaking into a quick trot, Drake gripped his duffel bag even more tightly.

Slowly, the lone figure made his way further and further away from the small plot of land that had been his entire world up to this point in his life. He had no idea how much this one small decision would affect the his own life, and the Terran civilization.


	2. Distance

Chapter 2: Distance

Dawn was near at hand, and if one were to look out of one of the many apartment complexes situated on the edge of Antiga Prime's capital city, Shad, one would notice a small, insignificant figure in a dark overcoat hurrying towards the city's outskirts. Any ordinary civilian that took notice of this figure would most likely pay him no mind, as citizens were quite used to poor farmer's sons looking to make a name for themselves sneaking away from their homes into the city. Ever since the arrival of the Confederate forces, that number of stray children seemed to have increased tenfold. To some, it seemed as if an endless wave of brainwashed young people had begun pouring into the city, all with the same ideals. "Join the army, raise money for the family," most of the young men would reply if a citizen were to ask them their reason for making the dangerous trip to Shad.

Drake's story was, of course, no different. However, nobody came up to ask him about it, or even seemed to notice him as he passed silently through the outlying neighborhoods of the city. Shad was in the early stages of its morning routine, rearing up and stretching its vast, powerful, intricate network of economic limbs and appendages. The soft whirr of hovercraft could just barely be distinguished from the quite pre-dawn lull, although that same deceptively soft whirr would become a deafening roar by mid-day, the high point in Shad's busy day. As Drake walked through the streets of the vast city, he tried to comprehend all of the wondrous things that he saw before him. Drake had never been anywhere outside of the land owned by his father, and every little detail about Shad astounded him. He distractedly gazed at the intricate network of traffic control systems, and awkwardly gaped inside store windows at the amazing technology that was set on display inside of them.

Realizing that dawn had already come and gone, Drake reminded himself of just why he was in the city and determined to find the Confederate encampment. By this point bafflingly lost by the city's intricate spider web of roads and pathways, Drake decided that it would be best to ask for directions from one of the city's many citizens. Walking determinedly up to a man who had a sharp comb-over in his hair, and what looked like a thousand things to do running through his head, and smartly asked, "Excuse me, sir, but could you please tell me which way I should go in order to find the Confederate base?"

"Oh, you're one of those farm-boy kooks wanting to enlist, eh?" the man replied with decidedly keen distaste. "Well, _farm-boy_," he sneered." The military base would be North three blocks, and West two more. Have fun getting yourself killed," he laughed as he walked off down the street.

_Well, that guy sure was polite,_ Drake thought. Not bothering to make the man's obviously rude disposition his issue, Drake immediately set out North, trying to figure out exactly how much distance a "block," as the disgruntled businessman had put it, measured out to be. Guessing that going by street intervals was as good a bet as any, Drake walked three street intersections North, and two West, to find that he was now on nearly the other side of the city, in front of a very large, ugly-looking and well-guarded facility.

Feeling slightly dwarfed by the building's vastness, Drake walked timidly up to one of the guards, who gave him a rather annoyed look between puffs of his cigar. "What n' the heck might you be wantin', boy?" he grunted.

"I… uh… I was… Thinking that maybe I was going to… enlist, sir," Drake replied cautiously.

The guard snorted loudly, nearly choking on the fumes from his cigar. "Sir? Boy, I only wish I had a title as pretty-soundin' as 'sir'. Anywho, since yer thinkin' about enlistin', I might as well warn ya while I can: The Confederacy ain't all they make it out to be in them commercials, son. War's a dirty business, n' you can rest assured that if you sign up to work fer us, yer gonna get yer pants dirtied up."

Still trying to decipher the guard's obviously off-world accent, Drake replied hesitantly, "Well, sir… uh… I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to defend my homeworld!"

The guard chuckled again. "Yer really gonna have to cut that 'sir' stuff with me, sonny. I'm just a guard, and pretty soon after you enlist, I'll probably be callin' you sir. The enlistment office is right over there, next to that big Barracks." Drake stared at him blankly. "Y'know, the big box thing!" he emphasized.

Drake finally acknowledged its location, muttered a quick "Thank you," and headed off in the enlistment office's direction. The guard watched him go, turned to his partner, and muttered, "There goes another o' those poor farmer's sons. They all gonna get themselves killed, judgin' by how much they know about war. I don't know, Les. Jus' by lookin' at our new recruits, I say we lose this war."

"Don't be so pessimistic," his partner replied. "They may seem like toddlers in need of a doting mother now, Johnny, but Drill Sergeant Bradley will turn 'em into men, or my name ain't Les."

Johnny, obviously needing a second to delve back into his mental dictionary and pull out the meanings of the words "pessimistic," and "doting," simply stood in silence, staring out at the city.

Meanwhile, Drake had reached the enlistment office. Apparently, Drake realized, he was not the only young person on Antiga Prime who had decided to enlist. Noting rather dejectedly how long the line was, Drake marched to the back and tried to keep as disciplined-looking as possible. The line moved slowly, and Drake had plenty of time to brood over the fact that his family was probably having a fit over him by now. He hadn't realized it when he left, but the fact that he was gone probably had all of them worried sick. Drake had made up his mind, however, and he wasn't about to back down from his decision. As his turn to be called came closer, Drake prepared himself for whatever they were going to do to him.

"Next!" one of the desk clerks called. Drake, still slightly distracted, didn't respond immediately. "Hey, pal! You're next! Get up here!" the desk clerk shouted.

Finally snapping to attention, Drake walked confidently over to the enlistment desk. "Hello," he said brightly.

"Quiet, soldier," the clerk said. "Well, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. You're not a soldier…yet. Tell me, son. Why do you want to enlist with the Confederate Alpha Squadron? What makes you think you're good enough to serve under General Duke himself?" The desk clerk smirked, because he knew that this was the point where most of the farmer's son walk-in's froze up and suddenly became unsure. Drake, however, stayed cool and collected.

"Well, sir, I want to make something of myself, and I want to help my family to have a better life," he responded crisply.

"Your family farms, then, son? Well, then, I can certainly see your incentive for joining. The pay for soldiers in the Alpha Squadron is by all means no meager sum. But you still haven't explained to me why a mere farmer's son, who has never operated high-tech machinery in his life, is going to make it in the most highly trained and efficient army in the galaxy."

Drake took a deep breath and tried to formulate his thoughts. "Well, sir, I'm good with heavy machinery, I was thinking I'd be useful as some sort of transport driver."

The desk clerk snorted. "Son, you have to have some of the best reflexes in the Confederacy to become a pilot! No, I think you're more cut out for grunt work. You've got heart, though, so here are your papers. Fill 'em out, return 'em to me, and then head out the back there to begin your service as a Confederate Marine."

Drake took the rather large stack of forms and began filling them out. The forms quizzed him on information ranging from the information of his mother's maiden name to his in-seam. After writing for a solid hour and developing a severe cramp in his hand, Drake got up and wearily returned his papers to the desk clerk. The clerk afforded him a quick smile, and then Drake was hurrying off to the back of the small building, eager to see what awaited him next.

* * *

"Drake?" James called. "Drake, where are you?" His voice echoed metallically outside of the Space Construction Vehicle as it was projected across the fields by a microphone built into the suit. "Drake, please come home! I need you helping me out in the fields! Mom needs you helping to make dinner! Dad needs, you Drake! As angry as he may have acted recently, dad really does love you, Drake! He's worried sick over you, bro! Please, Drake, if you leave, we'll be devastated!" 

James's voice echoed hollowly over Antiga's vast, mountainous landscape. Reverberating echoes of his plea came racing back to him through the many winding canyons, haunting him and increasing his worry for his brother. "Drake!" he called again. If James couldn't find Drake, he knew that the family would have a hard time making a living. But that wasn't the half of it, and James knew it. If James didn't return to his house with Drake, he knew that his father would be crushed. James had been around his father long enough to know that he would immediately blame himself for Drake's leaving, and that he would never be able to forgive himself. James didn't want to see his father in that kind of pain, and he determined to do everything in his power to find his brother.

As James wandered in and out of the various canyons and ravines that criss-crossed Antiga's landscape, he wondered to himself where Drake could have possibly gone overnight. In the middle of climbing a steep ridge, the answer, along with something else, hit him at the same time.

_Of course,_ he thought to himself. _Drake wanted to enli-_. That was as far as he got before the other thing that hit him knocked him off of his precarious perch and sent his SCV tumbling down the slope and back to the base of the plateau. Looking up, James saw a strange, dog-like creature with what seemed like dozens of sharp appendages protruding from it at every possible angle. Emitting a strange, blood-curdling snarl, the creature began to bound down the slope at a speed that didn't seem possible. Quickly realizing the danger he was in, James gunned the thrusters on the back of the SCV and set off away from the monster as quickly as he possibly could. Hoping that, if he could outrun it, it would give up its chase, he made for the rockiest terrain possible. He figured that, since SCV's could hover ever so slightly above the ground, the rough terrain would give him a speed advantage.

James was about to have a lesson in the tactics of the Zerg. As he raced towards a sharp outcropping of rock, another of the small monsters popped up in front of him. Veering sharply to the left, James narrowly avoided being tackled by the new abomination. Now being dogged by two of the miniature devils, James began to sweat profusely. Instead of trying to outsmart the creatures, James now decided that it was best to simply make for home. Slamming on the thrusters as fast as they would go, James accelerated and pulled slightly away from the two creatures. A third creature erupted in front of him, but James was traveling too quickly to avoid it, and it splattered on the hardened titanium armor of the SCV. The other two creatures, now seemingly unsure that their plan would succeed, halted in their pursuit, turned, and loped off into the distance. James, the adrenaline still flowing through his veins, kept going at full throttle for a good minute or two before calming down enough to notice that he was losing feul fast and killed the engine.

Standing in the SCV, breathing hard, James wondered what had just happened to him, and what in the world those creatures had been. Deciding it was best to get as far away from that area as possible and ask questions later, he started up the engine again and made for his home. James had no idea that he had just witnessed the very first creeping tendrils of a strangling Zerg infestation.


	3. Alone

Chapter 3: Alone

Three months had passed since Drake had enlisted in the ranks of the elitist Alpha Squadron. He had finished boot camp two weeks earlier, and was now just beginning to get accustomed to his squad mates. He was currently a Private, the grunt of the Terran army, and as such was not treated with much respect by higher-ranking officers. However, 6 more months of dedicated service would earn him the rank of Private First Class, which was not a huge leap, but still sounded much better to Drake. He was out patrolling the wastelands near Calatash, a small sub-city of Antigion, Antiga Prime's largest city. Not much had been happening over the two weeks he'd been on active duty. Indeed, the amount of enemy activity had almost seemed to drop since he'd enlisted. Drake was only on his third patrol, but he was already getting accustomed to the advanced Marine battle suit that he wore. Loping across the badlands in his powerful armor suit, he felt like some sort of ancient god. The armor must have weighed a ton, but due to his now incredibly muscular physique, and the extremely well-designed power system built into the suit, he was able to move freely within it, as if it were another layer of skin.

During his two and a half month training program, aptly named "Muscle Camp" by the soldiers who'd been through it, Drake had gone through what had seemed at the time like hell. He was put through all sorts of rigorous tests every day, given unhealthy slop to eat, and allowed only four hours a night to rest. After finishing one day of training, and feeling as if he couldn't go on, Drake was forced the very next day to get up and perform even more difficult tasks. Somehow, he survived them, and eventually made it to the final test, the one that all skinnies – that's what the soldiers called new recruits before they'd been through Muscle Camp – had to pass in order to complete Muscle Camp. He took the grueling test three times before he finally passed, and each time it was harder than the last. Drake just barely managed to finish the course his third time through, and was one of six other skinnies to finish camp that week. All seven of them went back to the enlistment tent at the end of the week to pick up their gear. While there, Drake caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was so surpised that he did a double take, and walked right into one of the posts holding the tent up. As he stood rubbing his head, one of the desk clerks began to laugh.

"They don't call it Muscle Camp for nothin', boy," he said with a grin. "You likin' that new physique of yours?" Drake nodded as he stared into the mirror. His once-skinny arms were now huge tree trunks with massive biceps and thick forearms. His shoulders had nearly doubled in size, and his abdomen and chest were now chiseled and defined. His legs were also larger, with bulging quads and firm calves. "Good! You'll be puttin' it to good use real soon, so prepare yourself!" The clerk grinned again and passed Drake his uniform. Drake could only nod dumbly as he continued to gape at his new body.

As he re-joined his comrades and began to head over to the Barracks for equipment, Drake wondered how he had gained this much muscle in so short a time. He remembered very little of those two and a half weeks besides grueling exercise and excruciating pain. As he probed deeper into his memory, he grasped at a recollection of eating, no, taking something during lunch… pills? Supplements? Drake didn't know, but neither did he care. Whatever had gotten his body to look like this couldn't have been a bad thing. One of the other recruits nudged him, jolting him back to reality. "We're almost at the Barracks," he grunted. "Look alive, huh?" Drake nodded and stiffened his walk, trying to assume perfect militaristic form. He realized that he looked like a cheap wind-up toy, so he loosened his stride slightly, but tried to keep a precise, rhythmic march going.

The first thing the new recruits noticed when they entered the Barracks were several lengthy rows of what appeared to be stasis tubes. "What're those things?" one of the less intelligent recruits asked.

"Those are stasis tubes, soldier," growled a squat, dangerous looking man who had been sitting in the corner. "Now, I'll let you off with a warning this time. In the future, you will speak when spoken to, and **only** when spoken to, while addressing a senior officer. Do I make myself clear?" he barked.

"Yes, sir!" the recruit squeaked.

"Now, I am Staff Sergeant Nate Menson. I will be formally enlisting you in the Elite Alpha Squadron of the Confederate Fleet. Be proud, soldiers. In a short while, you will step out of those stasis tanks, not just as men, but as newly-enlisted Confederate Marines."

Drake was itching to ask what the stasis tanks were for, but he knew better than to say anything. Instead he just stood and practiced taking orders, as he figured that would be an essential skill for him later in his career. Drake had to mentally smack himself, because Sergeant Menson had been giving orders while he was daydreaming. "..nd step towards the stasis tube closest to you, if you will," he was saying. Drake did his best to improvise and moved over to a stasis tank on the end of a row. "Good," Sergeant Menson continued. "Now, press the small red button on the side of the tank." Drake did so, and was rewarded with a sterile hissing sound issuing from the tube as the glass panel on its front slowly slid out and away from the entrance. "Please step inside the stasis tube," Sergeant Menson dictated.

Drake was so caught up with following directions that he had no time to wonder what this machine would do to him. Before he knew what was happening, the tube had sealed itself shut and a large, tangled mess of wires and tubes had dropped from the ceiling into his face. "Reach out in front of you and locate your oxygen mask," the sergeant's voice crackled over the intercom. "Fasten it around your head, making sure that your mouth and nose are completely covered by the mask. Next, locate the protective goggles housed in the side of your stasis tube and put those on, as well." Drake did so, making sure they were tightly fastened. "Finally, reach out and grab the wires in front of you. Attached to them should be four small nodes. Attach the nodes to your skin as follows: One above the heart, one directly over the stomach, one in the middle of the back, and one below the left lung." Drake placed the four small nodes on his body in the correct positions and waited for his next order.

To Drake's surprise, his tube instead began to fill with a cold blue liquid. "Do not be alarmed," Sergeant Menson's voice droned over the intercom. "The liquid is part of a small testing procedure we must put you through to test your mental ability. You will feel a small prick in the back of your head. This is an instrument that will measure your neural output during the exam. You will also feel a prick in your arm. This is a mild dose of a drug that will make you tired. In order to complete this exam, you must be asleep, so let the drug take its full effects and do your best to fall asleep." As Sergeant Menson was talking, the liquid in the tank slowly rose to his waist and above it. He felt the prick in his arm, and nearly a second later, the prick in the back of his head. Slowly, the effects of the drug began to take effect, and Drake became woozy. He could no longer distinguish Sergeant Menson's individual words, and his last articulate observation before he passed out was that a small headrest had extended to support his head. Drake's mind floated off into deep sleep.

* * *

Light shone through a window somewhere in the room, piercing Drake's eyelids and bringing him sharply awake from what felt like one of the best rests he'd ever had in his life. He rolled over, preparing to get up and work in the fields as he usually did. Instead, he bumped into an arm. Opening his eyes wider, what appeared to be a girl came into focus in front of him. Drake started, but then he remembered that it was only his girlfriend, Melanie. She had come over to meet his family for the first time the night before – they had met at a town meeting and had been dating in secret for several months – and had wound up spending the night with him. Feeling a strange, tingling contentment flowing through his whole body, he moved over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. 

"Hm?" Melanie mumbled as her sky blue eyes slowly opened. She sat up slowly and brushed back her tangle of flowing blond hair. She turned to look at him, giving him one of her cute smiles. She leaned in slowly and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Morning, cutie," she whispered. Rising from the bed, she walked over to her clothes, draped across a chair in the corner of the room. Drake watched her from the bed, admiring her delicate, graceful movements and beautiful, attractive body. She had caught his eye not just for her toned, firm body and beautiful facial features, but for her keen wit and startling intellect. Drake had never expected to meet someone like Melanie living in his own town, and he could say without a doubt that his relationship with Melanie was one of love at first sight. He enjoyed being with her more than anything else in the world, and hoped that they would never be separated.

Melanie turned to look at him as she dressed herself, and caught him staring at her. She grinned, chastising him lightly. "Can't a girl get a little privacy around here?"

Drake smiled back at her and rested his head against his pillow. Melanie walked over to him and kissed him again. "I really enjoyed last night, Drake. I really, _really_ did!" she exclaimed, continuing to caress and stroke his face. "I wish for all the world that I could stay longer, but I have to go before the rest of your family wakes up." She kissed him again and tears began to well up in her eyes. "I hope we can see each other again soon," she sniffed.

"Mel," Drake breathed as he sat up. "Mel, c'mon, you're just going back to your home. I'll come over later this week to see you, okay? Please don't get sad like this, you're too beautiful to be in tears." Drake wore a concerned expression on his face, and he drew Melanie close in a warm embrace. "I love you, Mel, and I promise that I'll see you again real soon, okay?"

Melanie sniffed. "I love you too, Drake," she whispered. "I love you more than I can express in words, and I never want to be separated from you." She sniffed again, and then wiped her eyes. A smile danced across her face, and she kissed him one last time. "You're right, though," she said, getting up from the bed and dancing over to the corner to finish getting dressed. "I'm only going back home, and we'll see each other later this week! It's going to be hard, but I'll wait for you, Drake, I promise."

Melanie began to walk out the door, but Drake rose from his bed and called out softly. "Melanie," he said. She turned from the door to look at him and he walked towards her. "I love you, Melanie," Drake said as he wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"I love you too, Drake," Melanie replied sincerely. As Drake released from their embrace, Melanie pivoted quickly and trotted out the door, leaving Drake with the same feeling of contentness that he had woken up with.

Moving over to his dresser, Drake rummaged through several piles of clothing until he found something that he decided was suitable for him to wear on such a fine morning. Stopping for a moment to assure himself that he wasn't dreaming, Drake looked out the window and was just barely able to make out a small speck moving off to the west, towards what he knew to be Melanie's home. _Until we meet again, fair maiden,_ he thought to himself. Pulling on his clothes, Drake walked out into the kitchen to find his mother preparing breakfast. "Good morning, Drake," she chirped. "You look like you slept well."

"I did, mom," he replied. "Are dad and James up yet?" Drake hovered over the stove, trying to see what his mother was cooking for breakfast.

"Oh, I don't think they're awake just yet. They stayed up for a little while last night listening to the local news. Did you have fun with your girlfriend last night, dear?" She asked, while nearly burning the ingredients for a dish she made at least once a week. Drake noticed the rather strange mishap, but hashed it up to his mother being tired.

"Yes, I did, mom. I was really glad that you guys finally got to meet her. I never intended to hide the relationship from you, it's just that you had so many other things to worry about at the time; we thought it would be best if we kept our relationship to ourselves for the time being. I'm going over to meet her family in a couple of nights."

"That's nice, dear. She seems like a very kind young lady, and very pretty too. Do you think she's the one, Drake?"

Taken aback by the directness of his mother's question, Drake stuttered for a moment. "Well, I, uh- you see, um-"

"Drake, just answer my question."

"Well, I don't know, mom. We've only been dating for a few months, and-"

"Drake, do you love her?"

Knowing that he wasn't going to weasel his way out of answering her question, Drake admitted defeat. "Yes, mom, I do love her. I don't want to rush into things, but this is the most intense feeling I've ever experienced in my life. It's like a rush, and it began the moment I first met her. I love her, mom, and she loves me."

Drake's mother nodded knowingly. "Yes, your father and I were like that when we were young. It certainly seems like you've found the one, Drake. Well, I'm happy for you. I hope everything goes well with her family, although you're such a charmer that you really don't have to worry at all." She winked at him and went back to cooking.

Drake shook his head and walked over to the cabinet. Grabbing a small cup from a shelf, he filled it with water from the sink and took a long draught. Placing the cup on the kitchen table, he pulled up a chair and sat down. Just then, his brother James walked in and flicked on the shortwave transmitter. "Morning, bro," Drake mumbled, but he was silenced by James' finger as he listened intently to the radio. Drake leaned in, trying to catch a wisp of what James was listening to.

"..eatures everywhere," Drake heard. "They are..ghtering the Conf..ate forces and ra..ing through the str..Antigion," the shortwave crackled.

"What's going on, James?" Drake asked.

James sighed deeply and sat down at the table. He looked solemnly at Drake before he began speaking. "Drake, last night dad and I heard a report over the shortwave of strange alien beings attacking a Confederate outpost. We didn't think much of it then, and we didn't want to scare you or mom, so we didn't say anything. We did spend some time prepping the SCV and loading up the Gauss Rifles, though. I wasn't going to tell you until dad woke up, but I think you should know. You heard what the reporter on the transmitter. There's an alien invasion force attacking Antigion, and they're going to be here soon. We have to get ready, Drake."

"An alien invasion force?" Drake exclaimed. "Oh, no, I have to warn Melanie!" Drake began to run out the door before the stern voice of his father brought him to a screeching halt.

"You'll do no such thing, Drake! Melanie's family is plenty bright enough to find out about this on their own, and we need you here." Drake's father walked in and stood facing him, hot embers glowing in his eyes. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Drake."

Just then, a faint buzzing reached their ears from the west, and the entire family turned to stare out the window as the buzzing grew louder. A dust cloud appeared in the distance, and all three men ran outside to get a better look. James rushed to the shed to grab the Gauss Rifles while Drake and his father waited in anxious anticipation. The buzzing grew into a sharp whine as the object moved closer, and Drake suddenly snapped his fingers. "It's a Vulture, dad! I'd recognize that engine any day! Boy, whoever's riding that thing is really gunning it," he commented.

As if to punctuate Drake's remark, the Vulture came rocketing past them at a speed that must have been greater than 200 miles per hour. Swerving sharply, the Vulture returned to their house and slowed to a stop. The rider took off his helmet and smiled warmly at them. "Didn't see you on the first pass, boys. When you're goin' that fast, it's hard to distinguish the terrain from everythin' else. Lucky I had this little cutie to point the spot out to me," he chuckled.

Drake peered behind the strange man to see Melanie sitting as gracefully as possible on the back of the Vulture. Extremely unnerved by the high-speed lift, she looked ashen and ready to vomit. Drake rushed over to her and helped her off of the bike. Stepping forward, Drake's father addressed the rider. "Excuse my asking, but who might you be, and why have you brought this young lady to our estate?" he inquired.

The man smiled. "Why, I'm Ben Gilford, Marshall around these here parts. I found Miss Melanie here walkin' on over the plains off to the west of here. I asked her where she was goin', and she said that she was headin' to her house, a good eight or ten miles off. I asked her if there was anywhere closer she could be headin', and she mentioned your place to me, sayin' it was about four miles back. I suggested to her that I give her a lift so as to make the trip quicker, and she agreed, though she was curious as to why. By the look o' your son holdin' the rifles over there, I'd say you already know, so I'll leave the explainin' to you. Now, I've got to finish my patrol, so I'll wish you safe passage and give you this here broadcast protocol. That's the central hub for the local defense network, you can wire a message in there and we'll have someone out here to help right quick. Take care, all of you! Especially you, cutie," he said with a wink. Melanie blushed ever so slightly and giggled as he mounted his Vulture and rocketed off into the badlands once again.

Everyone began talking at once. "Are you alright?" Drake inquired.

"What was that guy talking about?" Melanie asked carefully.

"What's Melanie doing back here, son?" Drake's father asked.

"When's breakfast gonna be ready?" James whined.

They decided it would be best if they all went back inside and talked it through over breakfast. Drake hugged Melanie tightly and began to walk with her towards the door. As they were about to enter the house, Drake happened to glance off to the east, in the direction of Antigion, and what he saw froze him with horror. "Drake, what is it?" Melanie asked, sensing his fear.

"Uh.. It.. uh.. look that way," he said, pointing off to the east. Following his finger, Melanie gazed off into the east for several seconds. Her eyes grew wide and she slowly drew in a deep breath.

"Wh.. What is that?" she breathed.

"That… would be the alien invasion force," James said. He tossed a rifle to Drake and his father, and then ran off himself to activate the SCV.

"Drake, what's going on?" Melanie asked anxiously.

"Melanie, I want you to go inside, and take my mother into the back room, and lock the door. No matter what happens, don't come out of that room, okay?" It took every ounce of will left in Drake's body to force out those words, but he knew it was what had to be done. There was no way the three men could fight off the horde charging across the badlands, but Drake would pile corpses around the doorframe before he allowed one creature to touch a strand of hair on Melanie's beautiful head. As she hurried inside, Drake glanced over at his father. "This is it, huh, dad?" Drake quipped nervously.

"Yes, son, I guess it is," his father replied dejectedly. James came out from the shed suited up in the SCV, and they made their final preparations. Drake estimated that they had approximately three minutes until the first wave reached them, so they decided to say a short prayer before the creatures attacked. After spending a moment in silence, Drake and his father and brother stood up and prepared to look death in the face.

They didn't have to wait long, as the first wave of Zerglings came crashing through their outlying fields within seconds of the ending of their prayer. Drake and his father began unloading rounds from their Gauss Rifles, the small, spike-shaped projectiles tearing straight through the small, dog-like creatures. To all three men's horror, the creatures did not fall even after 15 direct hits. "These things take more ammo than Rhynadons!" James yelped.

"Doesn't matter, pump 'em full of lead!" Drake yelled back. As the Zerglings drew close, James fired up the SCV's fusion cutter and moved up in front of his father and brother. The Zerglings seemed almost suicidal in their lust for battle, hurling themselves against the SCV in an attempt to crack its armor or damage its weapons. James did his best to get the creatures off of the armored suit, but there were too many. The suit went down under their weight, and they began to tear the plating away. Drake saw his brother go down, and began to blast the Zerglings on top of the craft. This gave James time to escape through the back, carrying the last Gauss rifle. He joined the others, and they continued their brave defense.

They were only three men, though, and no matter how strong or talented or determined they were, they could not win. Slowly, the horde of creatures was advancing. James, still near the downed SCV, didn't realize that he was being surrounded until it was too late. Taking him by surprise, a small pack of Zerglings jumped on his back and began to tear at his neck. Frantically trying to untangle himself while escaping another pack of Zerglings, James tripped and fell. An entire swarm of the dogs was instantly upon him, tearing his body to shreds. Drake heard his brother's screams, and began to run to help him, but his father's firm arm held him back. He looked back to see his father in tears at his eldest son's death, but his mouth was set in a grim, determined fashion. "We can't save him now," he breathed painfully. "We need to fall back and defend the doorway."

Drake followed his father back to the doorway, and took up a position beside him. As he was firing, he heard a noise off in the distance and turned to see what the sound was. He squinted, and could just barely make out a Dropship making its way towards their farm. "Dad!" he shouted. "There's a Dropship coming towards us!"

"Focus, son! If that dropship wants to have a chance at rescuing us, we need to at least survive long enough for it to get here!" his father barked back, and continued firing.

Drake nodded and continued to fire at the alien horde. They fought for what seemed like hours, and expended what seemed like clip after clip of ammo. The noise from the dropship was getting louder, and Drake knew that they wouldn't have to hold out much longer. Then, a projectile went whistling past his face. He ducked quickly out of reflex, and another one whizzed over his hair. Looking up, he saw several snake-like creatures with menacing claws slithering towards them. Intending to alert his father of the new creatures, he turned to find his father impaled by several of the creature's spikes. "Drake…" he wheezed. "Drake… defend your mother… and… Melanie…" With the last bit of his strength, Drake's father reached up and handed Drake his gun.

Wielding two rifles, Drake bit into the Zerg force with a vengeance, and bodies began to pile up in front of him. Suddenly, he heard a crash in the back, and he heard Melanie scream. He turned to look inside, and saw her run out of the back room with several Zerglings chasing her. "Melanie!" he screamed.

At the exact same moment, the Dropship arrived overhead. A rope ladder dropped down and the voice of the pilot whipped down to him from the transport. "Hey, kid! Hurry on up that ladder before these bastards smoke me!"

Drake began to reach for Melanie, not prepared to leave without her. She was sprinting towards him with her hands outstretched, and he stretched his out to meet hers. He was within inches of grabbing her when a Marine who had climbed down the ladder grabbed him and hauled him up onto it and out of the doorway. Drake howled and tried to struggle free of the Marine, tears flowing down his cheeks. The last he saw of Melanie, she had a terrified, gut-wrenching expression plastered on her face, her mouth frozen in horror and her eyes wide in terror. She was flailing madly, trying to escape the mini demons that chased her, trying hard, so very hard, to reach Drake, to hold him one last time before they died. Drake was horrified, grieved and enraged beyond belief. No matter how much he struggled, he could not escape the grasp of the Marine holding him.

As the pilot pulled up and away from the farm, Drake could hear faint screams drifting up from the farm, and each one drove a rusty knife deeper and deeper into his heart. He sobbed uncontrollably, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

"Somebody shut him up," the pilot groaned.

Drake's temper flared, and he shouted, "You left her there! If you had waited just two seconds longer, I could have saved her! Why did you have to be so god damn impatient!" He wailed and broke down into sobs again.

"Listen, kid," the pilot replied emotionlessly. "I'm an Alpha Squadron pilot. I'm trained to save lives on missions like this, so that's what I do. If I had waited two seconds longer to pick you up, you'd both be dead right now. Look, we're getting off this rock before the Protoss nuke it, and all of the blubbering in the world isn't going to bring back your precious girlfriend, so why don't you put a sock in it? If you cared about her that much, then maybe you should enlist and avenge her!" She cackled at her own joke, and several Marines laughed along with her.

_Maybe I will,_ Drake thought to himself. _Maybe I will._

* * *

Drake woke with a start in a dark, damp, unfamiliar place. He was sweating and shaking uncontrollably. _Where am I?_ he thought to himself. _Why am I here?_ Suddenly he remembered. Melanie, the invasion, that stupid Dropship pilot, all of it. He felt a well of emotions rising up in his chest, as well as a pain deep within his chest that wouldn't seem to go away no matter how much he tried to calm himself. He remembered that he was here to enlist and pay back those Zerg scum for ruining his life. He remembered that they had killed Melanie, and that was all he needed to know. 

Suddenly, a light flicked on overhead. A crackly voice sounded through an intercom, and a familiar hissing sounded. "Congratulations, Marines. You've passed your mental exams. Welcome to Alpha Squadron. After exiting your stasis tubes, please speak with Corporal Vaijen regarding your armor and equipment." Responding mechanically, Drake stepped out of his stasis tube and lined up with six other strangers for his armor. Strangely, though he knew nothing about them, he felt as close to them as if they were family. Not pondering this thought for long, Drake focused himself by reminding himself of the reason why he had come, and the reason why he belonged here.


	4. Sanity

Specialist Darren Burke rested his C-10 Canister Rifle across his legs, resting his head against the bulkhead of the dropship. He had a mission to complete, and he was going to make sure that nothing got in his way of completing it. "Hey, you back there!" the pilot shouted over the roar of the engines. "ETA 2 minutes to the drop-off point. You got everything you need?" In answer, Burke simply waved his hand towards the cockpit, knowing that the pilot would catch the motion. Righting his Rifle along side him, he pulled his customized battle visor more snugly over his eyes, making sure that everything was secure and working. Nothing could go wrong on this mission, not if he truly wanted the war to end. Looking out one of the scratched, dusty, grimy windows, he could vaguely make out the Antigan landscape. It was arid and rocky, with many tall cliffs and steep ravines. There were many excellent hiding spots along the path to his target, which he did his best to take note of while flying above them. Pulling his view to the left slightly, he was able to make out a very small, very compact Terran base hidden within the hills. At the same time, the pilot began to drop altitude and turn towards the small base. The time had come. Darren made one last check of his gear in an attempt to quell his nerves, but it didn't help. A minute later, he jumped out of the dropship and landed on the ground several feet below as expertly as he could. He attempted to hide his nervous shaking as he got up, but only one person had seemed to notice his entry.

"So you're the one they sent, huh?" A grizzled-looking marine with many decorative and important-looking badges on his armor said as he approached Burke. "You're the one they chose to drop the hammer on those Fed bastards, yeah?" Burke nodded stiffly, still fighting to keep his nerves at bay. "Well, the SCV's won't be finished with construction on the 'package' for a few minutes, so why don't you get some rest before you 'make the delivery'?" He chuckled, obviously amused by his own jokes, and began to stroll away. Burke shuddered a bit, inwardly gagging at the polite ignorance of the hardened marine. He had no idea of the power and destruction, the wrath, that Darren was about to direct upon the Confederacy. He decided it would be best if he went off to a secluded part of the base, so that the thoughts of those around him would not become an annoyance. He marched off, searching with his keen eyes for a place where he might rest.

He did not have long to rest, though, for shortly afterwards, he received a transmission from the marine who he'd talked to earlier. "Specialist, it's ready. Get your ass on the move, soldier. I want you ready to drop that thing in six minutes." _Six minutes,_ Darren thought. _He must be out of his damn mind._ Nonetheless, he began hustling towards the eastern edge of the camp, and the wastelands that lay beyond.

Scrambling over the rocky wastes of Antiga Prime, Burke tried his best to retain a swift pace while moving silently and leaving little evidence of his passing. Checking the clock on his HUD, which was uplinked to his unit's main computer and would set itself to the correct format for any planet automatically, he saw that he only had three minutes left to get within range of his target. _Hurry up, Darren, _he mentally smacked himself. Picking up his pace slightly, he crested a rise and saw the immense steel walls of the enemy base only a few hundred yards off. _Not much further now, _he thought. As he ran, he gradually let his thoughts slip into the past, back to when he had been taken from his home, his family, his life, and inducted into a special "training program" for "gifted individuals" living on Confederate worlds. He had been tortured, misguided, and finally beaten into submission, all as part of the Confederacy's malicious Ghost training program. He was not proud of what he had become, but he was skilled with his powers and not ashamed to use them against his former masters.

Pulling out of his reflection, Burke noticed that he had arrived at his destination. Stopping momentarily to catch his breath, he unstrapped his Rifle from his back and flipped a switch on it. He heard a click and a buzz, which he knew meant the firing mechanism had been disabled and that the laser-targeting system was online. Focusing his psionic energies in order to power his personal cloaking field, he leveled his Rifle with the wall of the enemy base, and pressed another button on it. It began sending a silent transmission to the base he had just left six minutes ago. The hammer was falling.

He began to count to himself. _1… 2… 3… don't lose track of the time… 9… 10… 11…_ As he approached twenty, he dropped his Rifle and dove behind a nearby boulder, pinching his eyes shut and burying his face in his arms. No matter what he did, though, the blinding whiteness always came. It always came, silently and without warning, because it preceded the impending explosion and wall of sound. And so it was this time, too, as the inside of his head suddenly became blindingly and painfully white. He dug his face into the dirt behind the boulder, attempting to hide from the painful brightness, but it was to no avail. As he sat, writhing, the first shockwave came. It thundered low along the ground, smashing into the boulder at its base, and knocking Darren back several feet. Still unable to see, he whimpered softly when exposed to the sheer awesomeness of what he had unleashed. It was not over yet, though, and he did his best to prepare for what came next.

Mere seconds after the first shockwave hit, another one came, this time bearing with it the intense heat of the explosion. As it passed over him, knocking him back with even greater force, he could feel the heat searing his flesh to the comfortable fabric in-lay of his armor. His eyebrows began to singe inside his visor and he could feel his boots melding with the surface of the earth below him. Several chunks of the boulder he had been cowering behind now tumbled onto him, and he yelped as they burned his skin. Suddenly it seemed as if Hell had decided to spare him, as the entire landscape fell quiet, save for a faint roar in the distance. Still mostly blind, Darren attempted to stand, but only succeeded in placing his hand in a pile of searing rock and burning himself. Shaking his hand furiously and rubbing his eyes vigorously in order to restore his vision, Darren peered dimly at the landscape around him. Even though the aftermath of what he had done was not a new experience for him, the drastic change in the landscape still shocked him. Every plant growing on the surface of the ridge had been either burned up or shriveled to a crisp by the intense heat. Rock outcroppings had been shattered by the shockwaves, and the parts of the outcroppings which were hit directly by the second shockwave had smoking black marks all across them. The landscape around him was in ruin, but Darren knew it was nothing compared to ground zero.

Wheezing painfully as he sat up, Darren fumbled for his radio. He wanted badly to take of his visor, but he knew that it was the only thing keeping him alive in the now-hostile environment. Instead, he turned on the internal coolant system, which to his surprise still worked, and tried to remember which channel on his transmitter was the command channel. When he finally chose the correct channel, he coughed out, "This is… Spe- specialist Darren Burke. The… launch of the Tactical N-nuke has been successful. Re- requesting immedia… immediate evac. at co-ordinates… 47.5 N-NE, 12 W. Specialist Burke, out." Having completed his mission, Darren passed out on top of the ridge, knowing that his evac and a cold glass of water were only minutes away.

* * *

"Ma'am, we've just received a transmission from Specialist Burke," the Comm. Sgt. Said as he turned to face his CO. "The package was delivered successfully. We're sending evac. for him right away, though I don't think he'll survive very long, even with his Hostile Environment suit." 

Major Sgt. Manda Garret looked at the Comm Sgt. Sternly. "No, we won't be sending evac. We need all of our dropships prepped and ready to fly. The success of our mission hinges on how fast we can get into their base after the nuke is delivered. Every second we waste is one second closer we come to failing the entire mission." The Comm Sgt. Stared dumbly at his CO, taken aback at her cruelty and lack of compassion.

"But.. but.. ma'am, he'll die out there! With all due respect, I'm appalled at your actions!"

"Be as horrified as you like, the success of this mission is too vital to our ultimate goal of winning the war to be jeopardized by the life of one Ghost Operative." Considering the matter closed for discussion, she rose from her seat and promptly left the room.

* * *

Drake was sitting at a table inside a bunker, playing cards with a few of his friends from his unit, when a huge shockwave hit the bunker, denting it and knocking their table over. "What was tha-" Drake began to say, but one of the other marines shouted, "Hit the deck!" Not waiting to find out why, Drake did so. Several seconds later, the roof of the bunker was blown off by an even larger shockwave, and an intense wall of heat hit the men in the bunker. Drake's world went white. He grabbed at his eyes, trying to clear them, but the intense heat prevented him from touching them for very long. Raising his voice to a shout over the roar, he asked the marine next to him, "What's going on!" 

A voice sounded in his ear, much closer than he expected. "No way to tell for sure just yet, but if I had to guess, I'd say we've been nuked. Best thing to do is turtle down in here and wait for reinforcements to come." Slowly, painfully, the whiteness in Drake's eyes receded, and the shockwave passed over them, leaving them to sit and lick their wounds. "You think the Sons did it?" someone asked. Everyone knew the answer, though, so nobody bothered to answer him. Drake looked outside, and saw a roiling red cloud billowing up into the sky in the north.

"If that cloud drifts this way," one of the marines commented, "we're gonna have to high-tail it outta here. That's pure radioactive fallout. Trust me, you don't want to be caught in a cloud of that shit." The silence resumed among them then, as they all reflected on what they had just experienced, and how lucky they were to have survived it. Drake looked down at his leg, feeling a dull throbbing. Grimacing, he saw that a piece of metal was imbedded deeply into the calf. One of the other marines noticed it.

"Just a flesh wound, kid. Soon as this rolls over, we'll get ya down to a medic station and get that cleaned up. You're lucky it didn' hit the bone, though."

Drake looked out into the dusky sky again. _Is it really dusky?_ He thought. _Or is that red cloud just tainting the sky and changing its color?_ He thought he heard a faint buzzing coming from the west, but he dismissed it as a hallucination due to the wound in his leg. A minute later, though, the buzzing had intensified into a low drone, now distinctively emanating from the western horizon. "Anyone else hear that noise?" Drake asked nervously.

"Yeah, I hear it," a marine grunted nervously. "Get yer weapons ready, boys. Looks like we may see some action yet." Drake took a firm hold on his Gauss Rifle and tried to find a comfortable position among the debris. The other marines moved in front of him, protecting their fallen comrade. As the drone grew in volume, the marine commented again. "Dropships. Lots of em. Don't know what those bastards are up to, but I definetly don't like it."

They waited silently, already knowing their fate, and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it from happening. Several minutes passed, and Drake could feel the sweat dripping down his neck. The pain in his leg had increased, but he forced himself to ignore it. Suddenly, the marine next to him started. "Shit!" he said loudly. "They've got Wraiths! Hide!" Drake did his best to scramble into the corner of the bunker and conceal himself, though he did not know yet what he was hiding from. Soon, though, he heard the high-pitched whine of jet engines, and what seemed to be several silhouettes ripped through the sky above him. _They're cloaked,_ he thought. The marines around him began to emerge from their cover, and Drake began to follow suit. Suddenly, a single silhouette slashed through the sky above them, this time heading back to the west.

"Damn it!" one of the marines shouted. "Now they know we're here! Pray, boys, pray for your lives!" Drake loaded a fresh clip into his gun, not knowing what would happen next.

Surprisingly, nothing happened. Well, not right away, at least. Everything around them seemed locked in an eerie calm. The only thing that changed was the ever-increasing noise of the dropships approaching them. In what seemed like seconds, the dropships were upon them, and Drake was being held at gunpoint by a very angry, very energetic marine. "You have a choice to make, marine!" The soldier in red armor shouted at him. "Either come up into this dropship with us, or die on the spot!" Drake could tell that he was completely serious, and looking around, he found that his comrades were all in similar situations. At a unanimous nod from the senior officer in the group, they all answered yes. Noticing the wound in Drake's leg, the soldier who had previously been interrogating him now helped him to climb up into the dropship. Secure in his seat, Drake closed his eyes and tried to ignore the roar of the engines. He wanted nothing more in the world right now than to fall asleep.

* * *

Major Sgt. M. Garret turned swiftly as somebody hurried through her office door. "Dammit, haven't I told you people to knock!" she roared, seeing that it was only an aide. 

"Uh, yes, ma'am, but I was told to report to you immediately that the operation has been completely successful." He stood nervously, twitching in front of her wrath. She sighed and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. He scuttled out of her cramped office, leaving her to brood. _Well, Manda, _she thought. _Looks like you haven't done too bad for yourself. This should be the final blow for those Feds. And you'll probably have a promotion in store for yourself._ She mentally jarred herself, and attempted to focus on the paperwork in front of her. She'd worry about her reward later.

For a moment, though, she paused, and remembered the man that she had left out in the wastes to die. The man who had faithfully followed his orders, never knowing that he would be betrayed. In a way, part of her pondered, that sounds just like something the Confederacy would do. _No, this was different!_ She feebly attempted to convince herself. _I had to sacrifice him for the success of the mission!_ She was not sure that was true, though. _Did you? _That same nagging part of her asked. _Or was it malice that directed your actions back there? Are you no better than the Confederate scum which you escaped from those years ago?_ She covered her ears and squinted her eyes shut, trying to shut out the voice. _No! Go away! You're lying! I'm nothing like them!_ But the voice persisted. _You're more alike than you think…_

She swept her hand across her desk, smashing the coffee cup that was on it into the ground. It shattered, and the noise brought an aide running into the room. "**Didn't I tell you to knock, damn it!**" she screamed at him. He ran fearfully from the room, leaving her to fume and clean up the coffee from the floor.

* * *

Darren Burke blinked slowly, forcing his eyes open through the ashy crust that had formed around them. He tried to swallow, but found that his throat was too parched and dry for it to function properly. He tried to move, but found that the slightest shift caused his body to be racked with pain. _Shit, _he thought. _What happened to my evac? _He coughed weakly and looked forlornly at the sky. _Is this how I'm gonna die? Melting out here in this wasteland? _Darren didn't exactly like the idea of that, but he didn't see how he was going to get out alive. He was stranded in the middle of a radioactive warzone. He had no evac, no supplies, and could barely move. 

_Well,_ he thought,_ I really don't have much to live for anyways. Just another mindless grunt workin' in the dirt. Nobody'll miss me._ He chuckled morbidly. _No, _another part of him said. _She would miss you._ And he knew that was true. But what was he going to do? How could he possibly survive and return to her? He couldn't, and he knew it. With the last of his fading sanity, he realized this, and slowly the world around him faded into blackness.


End file.
